Best Revitalization Poems
Abstrusely they spoke about things unknown.
They figured she understood because she responded within knowledge given by the Lord.
Never could she state what was meant.
She countered innately.
She rejoined her past.
Her findings were that someone, other than herself, revamped yesterday.
How does history repeat?
Atrocious is this cruelty.
What went before is not to be.
However, a reality has formed from yesteryear.
The future is a seed, which has matured profusely.
Seething a lost is she who faces a breach in her memory.
Neurological resources are their tool.
The mind willingly enters this superlative institute.
Reconsider what has been done because tomorrow has come.
Reflect to divert to revitalize a city’s self-worth.
___________________________________________
Penned on September 06, 2014!
Just over the next mountain I journey
past the horizon of my history-
going past that which I have known
where knowledge lies in the next sudden sunrise
to follow the next bright illuminating moment
harnessing an untouched, untrampled day
bringing breathlessness in stirring breezes
of new beginnings blowing across
my epiphany of exploration and discovery
Where my vision of unviolated beauty
pure of scope and content lays in
endless fields of unseen flowers and leaves
aligning their colors and symmetry in perfection
so alive and enfolded in their cradle of evolution
my heart bursts with immeasurable pleasure
Where I listen to the unheard symphonic poem
as the oaks and willows model their lasting fellowship
talking underground in fertile untouched soil
speaking the ancient language of the eternal
reuniting in continual rhythm as they
gather each living thing under this sun
as an intricate pattern of peace
And as the day closes its mystical curtain
I am struck by the introspective wisdom
of deep still nights and the glory of a new moon
as the spackling of shooting stars
ignite my untamed desire to venture on
pointing my way to follow my dreams
by the light of their cryptic compass
in my rite of passage to discover
something greater than myself
August 7, 2023
No. 1235 New Poem Only Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brain Strand
the system needs revitalization
in order for new creations to be vital creation
knowing this and more, i wonder if we could talk
then afterwards find a new root of renewal via a quiet walk
when we become reenergized, we can bask in the new ebb and flow
no matter the temperamental tendencies of real life, you are still the star of my show
the rosebush grew
until the days became new
still change is precious and few
the notice of your precious memory is long overdue
at times i feel guilty
now that i have outlived you
i still feel that you are older than me
for your understanding of the world far outranks mine
the rosebush died
modern forwardness is now satisfied
however this old soul is now very mortified
so a freshly new rosebush by me is now applied
*This poem was written for "Kensington Avenue Poetry Contest, Anthony Biaanco, sponsor, July 20, 2025
KENSINGTON'S LAMENT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her city streets are grey and worn, with a denim sky overhead. Birdsong trickles out in fractured waves, as if feathered friends cried while flying her way. Engines sputter; horns blare. People hurry by her in silence, eyes down, broken only by shouts or violence.
In the heart of the city, Kensington stands.
Her factories whisper of glory long past,
In shadows of brick, distant memories are recast.
Kensington once stood proud, her arms open wide.
She wore garments created from vibrant thread,
Her looms danced like children, with dreams in their heads.
But deindustrialization’s cruel hands silenced her workers.
The mills closed their doors, leaving Kensington barren and bare.
Homelessness, crime, and poverty crept in, like a thief unaware.
Now she wears rags of neglect, tattered and frayed,
Her children, once hopeful, now wander with fear,
As the specter of poverty hovers ever near.
Her streets, once alive, are overgrown with weeds.
The stories of families, of struggle and pride,
Now faded like echoes that time and ruin hides.
“Can you hear my history’s soft echoes?” she asks.
“I am more than the ruins and scars I wear,
More than the weight of past despair.”
“I yearn to reach for something more!” she shouts.
“You have so much to gain, it’s true.
In healing me, you’ll find you too.”
Revitalize me,” she desperately pleads.
“Through sidewalk cracks, the sunlight streams.
I beg you! Help awaken my forgotten dreams.”